Darling One
by childxofxdeath
Summary: Maybe it was that accent, and the way he said "Darling." Maybe it was the blue eyes. Maybe it was just the lonliness. But everytime Arthur saw him, he just broke.
1. Chapter 1

Darling One

Disclaimer: I do not own Inception or its characters

Warnings: Some strong language and graphic scenes that may be disturbing to readers. Discretion is advised. SLASH later in the chapters.

A/N: Probably going to be written as a three shot, but it may take a little longer. Enjoy =]

Eames was surprised by what he saw in the almost empty warehouse that afternoon. Arthur was stretched out on one of the lawn chairs with his feet curled up to his chest, dreaming. Dreaming without any help. It was a wonder the man could dream naturally at all, but to add to the mystery of it all, Arthur seemed to be dreaming as deeply and vividly as if he had never been exposed to dream sharing at all. Eames smiled and shook his head, remembering a time when he hadn't been able to control his dreams which popped up in the night. Arthur was shivering despite the sticky heat in the warehouse and Eames made to cover him with a nearby blanket but stopped as he came to stand right by the side of the slumbering, dark haired man. Something was wrong. Arthur's brow was furrowed and his eyes were moving far too rapidly to have to do with R.E.M. He was making small whimpering noises and Eames reached down to wipe a stray tear from his cheek. Arthur wasn't shaking from cold; he was shaking from fear.

Eames' heart sank as he watched Arthur, his feet moving slightly to imply running or kicking, his mouth twitching into an ever-present frown. And suddenly Arthur let out a scream that echoed around the empty warehouse and inside Eames' chest. Eames took one last swift look around the warehouse to ensure no one had come back for something and quickly set up the dream sharer, hooking himself up to Arthur. Eames had no idea if one could even share a natural dream, but he was desperate to do something, even if it was simply changing the dream itself. Eames pressed the button and went under, only a little nervous about dream sharing unsupervised; there would be no one to give the kick if something went wrong. His head throbbed as he came into Arthur's nightmare. He was met by a dark room in which two small children sat. A blonde girl played with her Barbie dolls while a dark haired boy sat reading a book far beyond his years. He looked uncannily like Arthur, and Eames wondered if Arthur had children. He also wondered about the whimpering from before. This did not look like a nightmare, but Eames forced himself to remember that looks can be deceiving. He should know; he'd been deceiving people by shifting his looks in their dreams for a very long time.

"Arthur?" asked the little girl sweetly. The young boy looked up from his book. Eames thought it was funny that Arthur had named the kid after himself. "Will you play Barbies with me?"

"In a minute Matilda. I'm almost finished with this chapter," he said as he turned back to his reading.

"Please Arthur? Pretty, pretty please?" she begged and the boy chuckled.

"Alright," he said, closing his book. Eames gasped as the boy stood and walked over to Matilda, revealing his face fully to Eames for the first time. This was not Arthur's child; this was Arthur **as** a child. Little Arthur sat down next to Matilda and picked up a plastic doll. They made the dolls talk and shook them gently from side to side to imply life and laughed for a good half an hour.

"Arthur, you're the best big brother ever!" exclaimed Matilda, smiling from ear to ear. The corners of Arthur's mouth twitched up (a habit he was already picking up on) and he replied "And you are the best little sister." Just then the bedroom door banged open and a tall, burly man with dark hair like Arthur's staggered in. He observed the scene before him and little Arthur's eyes went very wide. The man glared at the Barbie doll in Arthurs hand and walked over to him, swiftly kicking the toy from Arthur's fingers.

"Boys don't play dolls," the man said loudly, forcefully, and then he glanced at Matilda, as if remembering her presence. "And **you**," he said angrily, pointing a finger at the girl of no more than five, "Don't you encourage him. Don't want your _bestest big bwover _to turn out a fag, do you?" Matilda said nothing. "**WELL?**" screamed the man.

"No daddy, that's not what I want," Matilda whispered. Eames heart dropped into his ass. Daddy, she'd called him. He stalked from the room and slammed the door behind him. Arthur stood and walked over to the corner of the room where the doll had landed, and handed it back to a shaken Matilda. He wiped away the silent tears that slid down her face. Already Arthur hid himself away behind the emotionless mask he wore so well during a job. He couldn't have been nine yet.

"Arthur," Matilda began tearfully. "What's a fag?" Arthur looked at her for a moment, considering his response, then looked away ashamedly. He did not like lying to her, but he didn't want her to know.

"It's what they call cigarettes in England," he said dejectedly and then sat down away from her again, picking up his book where he'd left off.

The dream cut to Arthur standing outside a yellow house on a dead lawn with tears in his eyes. He hugged Matilda close to him and buried his face in her hair. "You be good for mommy now, okay?" he said. "I'll call you every night." Matilda nodded and wiped at her own eyes. Then she picked up her small, purple knapsack and walked across the lawn to her father's car; he was sitting in the driver's seat, chewing on a cigar and honking his horn. He was sending Matilda away to live with her mother in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Arthur waved goodbye to the only friend he'd had from his house in Bangor, Maine, and dreaded the moment his father would come back from the airport.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Okay, so when the dream cut to the front lawn in the last chapter, I forgot to indicate the passage of time. Arthur is now ten years old instead of eightish when we first saw him.

Eames moved to the boy and made to put a comforting hand upon his shoulder, but as he suspected, Arthur could not feel, hear or see him. Eames assumed this was an effect of natural dreaming; one did not notice intruders. Apparently, Arthur's subconscious didn't recognize Eames' presence either. He had not been attacked and had not even seen another person besides Arthur, Matilda, and Daddy. Eames felt sick. He had a feeling that the dream was about to become a serious nightmare. The sky split open and drenched the young boy with his head hung but passed right through Eames. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

The dream cut to Arthur standing soaking wet in a grimy kitchen, eyes wild with hate as he stared at his father.

"Oh boo fucking hoo," mocked Daddy. "Arthur's widdle pwaymate is all gone. Man up for once damn it! She'd still be here if you didn't have to play with her dolls and dance around like a fairy princess! That's her job not yours."

"No. My job was to keep her safe and happy despite your constant drunken state, and feed her and go shopping with her. My job. It was my job, because you fucking quit when mom walked out! She'd still be here if **you'd** manned up for once!" Arthur screamed the last sentence directly in his father's face, his cheeks turning red with anger. His father looked shocked, and then a strange sense of calm flowed over his face. The hate left Arthur's eyes. It was quickly replaced with fear. The burly man reached down and unbuckled his belt, slowly removing it from the loops of his jeans.

"No, no daddy! I'm sorry!" whimpered Arthur. The man remained unmoved as he removed the last bit of the belt and folded it over in his hands once. The boy, now ten, turned and ran for his bedroom.

"Get back here!" his father bellowed ferociously. His voice echoed throughout the small house. He heard Arthur's door slam. The father began jogging and Eames ran with all his speed into him meaning to knock him over and give Arthur more time to hide, but Daddy passed through him just as the rain had. Eames followed the man back to the dim room from before, and passed through the closed door like a ghost. Eames had just enough time to see Arthur's closet door close quietly before his father bust in the room. "Where are you?" he demanded. Arthurs soft crying was audible through the closet door and the man stalked over, ripping the thin door from its hinges. He threw it down and it bashed into the wall, knocking over a makeshift bookcase and sending heavy literary works flying.

"You do **not** hide from **me!**" Daddy screamed, yanking Arthur out with quite the same amount of force he had the door and throwing him on the mattress on the floor. "And you **DO NOT** speak to me that way. Ever. Again," he reinforced the last two words with a blow from his belt, knocking the wind out of the small boy. Eames yelped as Arthur tried to hold in his cries; tried feebly to prove to his drunken father that he was, in fact, a man. Arthur turned over to protect his stomach and face, but the man continued to swat at his exposed backside. Eames watched helplessly as Arthur's resolve finally broke, and he cried out loud as his father's blows became harsher. Eames sank to his knees and lay next to the boy, wrapping him in his arms and covering his body with his own. He knew it would do nothing for the pain as the belt passed through him and struck the boy, but he hoped Arthur could feel his presence, holding him and crying with him.

"I'm here Darling," whispered Eames. "This is only a dream, a horrible memory. He can't really hurt you anymore. I'll never let him again."


	3. Chapter 3

When Eames opened his eyes, he found he was no longer clinging to Arthur. He sensed a significant passage of time and felt weary. He laughed at the irony of being tired in a dream and searched for Arthur. He was still in the little room from before, but it had changed since he last saw it. Books were now accompanied by an extensive collection of C.D.s and Eames thumbed through them, impressed by the variety between the genres. Only Arthur could love all music.

The boy (now almost a man) in question quietly opened his bedroom door and peeked inside. Seeing the room was empty, save for an invisible Eames, Arthur nodded and motioned for someone behind him to follow him in. A tall, blonde haired boy tiptoed into the room behind Arthur and closed the door as quietly as it had been opened, making no noise even when he locked it behind him. Arthur appeared to be about sixteen. The neatly kept hair that Eames was so accustomed to was almost completely shaved except for a long wavy strip that ran down the middle that surely formed a Mohawk when gelled correctly. Arthur lowered his schoolbag to the hardwood floor as his friend flipped through the music selection Eames had just gone through, pulling a case from the neatly ordered shelf.

"Arthur?" the boy asked quietly, waiting to be heard.

"Hmm?" Arthur responded, looking up at the blonde patiently.

"Where's the mixed C.D. darling? The one with all the jazz music on it?" Eames raised his eyebrows upon hearing his favorite name for Arthur. Darling. Surprisingly, teen Arthur did not seem to mind the little pet name.

"Already in the stereo, most likely." The other nodded his head and turned to a cheap looking stereo that sat on the nightstand, pressing play. Quiet music that Eames did not know drifted sweetly through the room. He smiled and swayed, shifting his weight from hip to hip. "Come sit down Daryl." Arthur beckoned, patting the bed next to him. Daryl complied and sat, taking one of Arthur's hands in his own. Arthur reached up and caressed Daryl's smooth face in his free hand, humming the soft music to himself. Eames felt a surge of jealousy rush through him but quickly shook it away. This was still a nightmare, and Eames would have to put his feelings aside; he stayed alert for signs that things were about to turn ugly.

The young boys on the bed kissed and touched sweetly, almost nervously as the C.D. ran its course. Eames watched Arthur smile as Daryl tangled a hand in his hair, messing up that which would be perfectly combed in the future. Eames looked for a nearby kick, hoping one could get themselves out of a natural dream without disturbing the dreamer; he believed the nightmare had dissipated and did not particularly want to hang around to see it become a lucid, lovely dream. He felt like an intruder before, but this was just private! Eames felt himself blush when Arthur whispered a gentle "I love you" and shifted uncomfortably. The boys weren't doing anything nearly as graphic as Eames had seen before; in fact, they hadn't gotten past kissing. He still felt the urge to get out; he felt he shouldn't be there.

And that's when he saw the nightmare unfolding.

The doorknob to Arthur's room was jiggling and twisting, but the two teens could not hear it over the music. The lock began to turn as someone picked it from the outside, and Eames had a good idea of who that someone may be.

"Hey!" he yelped, pleading for Arthur or Daryl to hear him. "Hey! You're dad's home!" he screamed at the top of his lungs but Arthur and his partner remained undisturbed, actually deepening their kisses. Eames ran to the door and grabbed the knob, planning to hold it closed but to no avail; Arthur's father shouldered his way into the room.

"Damn it Arthur! How many times do I have to tell you? Don't lock the d—" he stopped midsentence and stared at the scene before him. Daryl had snaked a hand under Arthur's shirt just before Daddy came in. The boys were paralyzed, lying entangled in each other's arms. Arthur's father too was immobile, and simply gaped stupidly at the two. Eames would have laughed if he wasn't so near wetting himself. All at once the scene burst to life. Arthur's father was across the room in record time, his face as red as a ripe tomato. Arthur began to cry silently as he held onto Daryl, attempting to protect him with his skinny body. Daryl flipped Arthur over gently but quickly and stood to meet the giant standing before him. Before he could even open his mouth, Arthur's father landed a fist in it, drawing blood from Daryl's already bruised lips. Arthur screamed as Daryl flew back, but it seemed the blonde had a little fight in him. He stood and threw a shot at the older man's gut which doubled him over. A brawl broke out, and still Arthur could be heard over the grunts.

"Dad stop! Stop it dad please! I love him!" At that, the man's eyes grew wild and he doubled his intensity, bludgeoning the blonde who had long since given up. Arthur leapt at his father's ankles, taking him to the ground.

"What? You want some?" screamed the bear of a man. Arthur's eyes widened in fear.

"Leave him alone!" shouted a very defenseless Eames. The dream began to fall apart. The ceiling was caving in and pieces of the night sky were coming through the roof as the sun continued to set in the window. Arthur's father stood and brushed himself off as the music continued to play happily in the background. Arthur's father left the room, threatening hell on anyone who tried to leave. Momentarily alone, Daryl looked into Arthur's eyes with his own bright blue ones and smiled the best he could through his tear and bloodstained face. He was slowly losing his pigment and Arthur chocked on his sobs.

"Don't worry darling one," he whispered. Blood squirted from his mouth with each word of false comfort. "Everything is going to be okay." Footsteps pounded down the hall as Daryl let his eyes drift shut. Arthur screamed and begged him to hang on, to come back as the dream crashed around him.

"Don't worry _darling_," growled Arthur's father sarcastically from the door. "I'm not quite done with you yet."

Eames woke with a start and found himself staring into the confused and fear filled eyes of Arthur. They were both sweating and crying. Eames' throat was sore from yelling at a dream but he cleared it the best he could and sat next to Arthur. The man in question looked away ashamedly and rubbed at his eyes, attempting to clear them of the horrible sights he had re-witnessed that night. Eames pulled him into his arms and held him, hushing him quietly, at which point Arthur cried outright and clung to him.

"It was all my fault Eames! He died because I couldn't keep myself away from him like my father told me to," he sobbed into Eames' shirt, sniffling and barely breathing.

"That was never you're fault d- love." Eames caught himself on the nickname he used to love annoying the distraught young man with. He promised to watch himself from now on and vowed to cut the word out of his vocabulary entirely.

"He said that if he ever caught me with another man like that again he'd kill me too," Arthur hiccupped, looking around wildly for the man to come creeping out of the corners.

"He can't lovie," said Eames quietly. He leaned away from Arthur and looked into his eyes. "I won't let him. Ever." Arthur sniffled and looked at Eames for a while more before pulling away and nodding. Eames took his hand and pulled him up from the lounge chair. They spent the night at Eames house, laughing, crying talking and sharing stories, but not sleeping. Despite their exhaustion, they knew that if either one closed his eyes he would be subjected to the things that had gone on in Arthur's dream. So they played any music but jazz and watched movies, and finally did fall asleep in each other's arms, warding off nightmares and the things that lurked in shadowy corners.

A/N: Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it. =]


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